Love can be hard. Hard on the heart, hard

on the mind, hard to find what real love is.

I have welcomed so many wrong loves

into this heart that I cannot tell a hand

to hold from a fist. Harmless turns

into harmful and I am left sputtering,

wringing my hands before anyone else can.

 

But I am learning. My heart is an innocent child,

refusing to believe love only comes black and blue

and wrapped in bandages. I am still learning. Still hoping.

 

I know Love is safety. It’s leaving the door to your heart

unlocked and not being afraid of it being stolen. Love makes

sure the cloak of shame is never draped over your shoulders,

tying a knot around your neck. Love is a hand held without

squeezing, no fingernails creating crescent moon scars.

Love is an embrace that does not remind you of suffocating.

Love is a breath of fresh air. Love is in the small things.

The warm candlelight glow surrounding laughter. Eyes

that are the color of honesty and care. The ability

to unapologetically exist in comfort. Love is not

the slamming of a door, but the opening of the heart.

 

Through all the growing pains, my resilient heart refuses

to believe Love always hurts. Real Love is pink

like the blush in your cheeks, giftwrapped

and filled with joy. I am still learning:

Love is safe. Love is kind. Love is limitless.